


With Love and Squalor

by SubwayWolf



Series: Two at a Time [1]
Category: National Football League RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Gaping, Blow Jobs, Choking, Coitus Interruptus, Coming In Pants, Consensual Choking, Finger Sucking, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Hate Sex, Interfemoral Sex, Lingerie, Locker Room, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mildly Dubious Consent, Non-Consensual Bondage, Office Blow Jobs, Pet Names, Rival Sex, Secret Relationship, Selfish lovers, Shower Sex, forced blow jobs, unprotected anal sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-04-20 21:29:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4802831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SubwayWolf/pseuds/SubwayWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>NFL porn one-shots updated biweekly en tandem with Patriots-centric "Brain Thrust Mastery" to celebrate the 2015 season.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's A Hit

**Author's Note:**

> Alright!!!! So college is making my anxiety better but my depression worse and it seems I'm coping with it by regressing! Horray! The first fanfiction I've ever written was for the NFL fandom - Tom Brady/Peyton Manning, if I remember correctly - way back in 2006. And I got this brand-spankin'-new idea to write something every week with different pairings and whatever kink strikes my fancy at the moment. Pushing myself to write like this is good for me. Unfortunately, weird gay bullshit is going to be the result. Anyway, it should be fun.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " _This scene is dead, but I'm still restless; an hour or so 'til last call, I guess_ ; _I shouldn't even be here, much less ..._ _I'm not going home till I'm done_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of the best ships in the entire NFL and if anyone disagrees and wants to fight me on it, meet me in my backyard at 9 tonight. No weapons, just fists. Come alone.
> 
> Anyone who agrees, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as my horny ass enjoyed writing it. ;)

Charity work often brought Jarvis Landry back to New York. Out of all the cities he had visited and been a stranger to, New York had the biggest place in his heart. It was a place that welcomed you with open arms and could feel like home whether you had been there for fifteen minutes or for your whole life. Every time he came back, the city gave him a strange feeling, as if he was visiting for both the very first time yet also the thousandth time. But it always, every time, without fail, made him want to stay there forever.

And in New York was Odell Beckham. It had been months since Jarvis and Odell had seen each other in person. They had texted a lot since then, but Odell was a slow replier and used about as many words per text as he did in daily conversation – that was to say, not many. All in all, it was better to be with him, to see and touch him, because Odell was so jumpy and busy and love to pic-spam; horrible at making deep conversation.

Odell was a very generous person, but only people who knew him well were aware of this fact. He gave often to charities and children’s hospitals but didn’t appreciate the media, who was more interested in his inclination to party, finding out about it and pestering him about it. He wanted to be a good person for its own sake, not for the sake of fame. That was one of Jarvis’s favorite things about him.

Even though he knew Odell so well and knew how giving he could be, Jarvis was pretty much floored when he was at Odell’s suite apartment the night of Valentine’s Day and was greeted by Odell, wearing a button-down, blood red dress shirt and silver slacks, opening the door and letting him inside, standing close and avoiding eye contact and after a few awkward greetings, mumbling, “I know it’s stupid, but I bought you flowers.”

Jarvis was so startled that he almost had to ask for clarification, but he turned his head and saw the bouquet of deep maroon-colored roses wrapped up in a cone of white paper and tied together with twine on the countertop. He looked back at Odell, seeing his cheeks flushed pink, and his light green eyes, drooping sleepily, turned away, and his brow furrowed in a look of embarrassment. Jarvis need another moment to process this information so he looked back at the flowers, and then at Odell. Then back at the flowers. Then back at Odell again.

After taking a soft breath to assemble himself, Jarvis smiled, and he saw Odell’s eyes turn, finally, onto his face, seemingly entranced for a moment by the grin there, until the receiver forced himself to look away again. Jarvis reached out and put a hand on Odell’s arm, a light touch against tense muscles. 

“It’s not stupid, Odell.” He wanted to make this as clear as he could, but he knew Odell wouldn’t believe him. “I appreciate the gift. Very much so.”

Any hint of happiness in the man’s eyes was gone in an instant and replaced with grouchiness. He shrugged Jarvis’s touch off, and Jarvis’s smile instantly dropped. Odell could even stand in front of him any longer. He went over to the counter to examine the flowers that were lying there, looking down at them with a sneer. For a moment, he just shook his head, then he looked down at them and put a red petal between his thumb and the pads of his fingers, rubbing gently, feeling the softness. 

“Fuckin’ flowers,” he muttered under his breath. “What was I thinking?”

Jarvis would have rolled his eyes if his heart wasn’t still rushing. Nothing was easily resolved when it came to Odell Beckham. 

“Obie,” he started softly, and at the countertop the receiver visibly tensed at the sound of his name. Jarvis cautiously approached him. “I like the flowers. Relax.” Once he got close enough, he put a hand on Odell’s back and started to rub patterns there. It always used to relax him after games, and seemed to be working now. “Hey, look at me,” Jarvis coaxed despite there being no use. “Just relax.”

Odell started to shake his head. There was a frown in his face and instead of self-directed frustration, sadness was in his eyes. “It’s just stupid,” he said again. His favorite adjective. “I didn’t know what to do, and… It’s been a really, really long time since I’ve seen you. I wanted to dress up for you. I wanted to get you something.” He just kept talking, probably the quickest string of sentences he’d ever said aloud. “I was just thinking that, um… I just wanted to see you smile.”

Jarvis instantly lit up in a smile again. He leaned over the counter slightly, trying to catch Odell’s gaze. “I did smile,” he recalled.

Odell snuck a glance at him. His eyes were so light and gorgeous, Jarvis treasured the moments when Odell looked at him. Odell smiled, too, and he had the most beautiful white teeth, a grin that made Jarvis’s heart quicken every time, and it made his cheeks warm and his head dizzy, even after all these years. Even Odell’s voice was warm when he responded. 

“Yeah,” OBJ said through the grin. “You did.”

Jarvis was still beside himself. It was just so nice to look his man in the eyes, to feel his body heat right beside him. All that was left was touching him. “It has been a long time,” he agreed through an exhale, feeling his emotions start to get the better of him. He spread his arms and stood straight. “Come here,” he ordered, but it came out sounding more like a question, or like begging.

Odell closed in and accepted the hug, surprising Jarvis yet again this evening. Odell wrapped his arms around Jarvis and hugged him so close, burying his face into the crook of his neck as if to hide something. “Too long, man,” Odell agreed. His voice was weak, about to break, but he held his breath to keep that from happening.

Jarvis started to rub circles around his back and he started to ease up, slowly but surely. Only now could he smell the distinctive, fresh, and heavy scent of the nearby roses. He let his eyes close for a moment as he just relaxed in the warmth and strength of Odell’s grasp. Jarvis was a very happy person, but right now, he felt absolutely overjoyed. He felt like he belonged, and he felt like he was loved, and that was even better than feeling happy.

When Odell pulled back, he was smiling again, cocking his head a little to side. There were small tears lining his eyes, giving them a gleam of happiness that made him practically glow. “But you’re always worth the wait, though.” 

Those were really such great words to say before kissing someone, and as their lips finally met with tamed familiarity, Jarvis understood that just because Odell, when affected by his emotions, was a man of few words, didn’t mean that he couldn’t make the most of them.

* * *

“Come on, toss it at me!” Odell called from across the room, tilting his head back and opening his mouth so his tongue stuck out. The next time he spoke sounded silly and tongue-less. “I’ll cath it, I thwear!”

Jarvis lifted his head up from the couch, which was a massive leather sectional that was wide enough to sleep in as a bed. He had his head in the pillows and was watching TV, but seeing his friend across the room made him smile. There was a mostly-empty box of Frango Mints opened on the area of the couch up by his head, next to six other completely empty boxes. Odell had brought them down from Marshall Fields in New York and they had eaten enough for an entire lifetime, plus a little extra.

There was a piece of chocolate in Jarvis’ hand, and he was holding it between his two forefingers and his thumb. “No way.” He shook his head and popped it into his mouth, tasting the smooth, minty cool chocolate beginning to melt on his tongue. “I’ll miss, or you’ll choke, and it’ll be a disaster.”

Odell put his tongue back in his mouth and sighed, but Jarvis could still hear the smile in his voice. “Come on, man, you know I can catch anything. And if you’re as good of a passer as you are a receiver, I’m sure you’ll make it.”

“That’s sweet, but my answer’s still no. All of these are going to be gone if you don’t get over here soon. Just warning you.” Jarvis thought about reaching out a taking another one, but these chocolates were best consumed slowly and to be savored over time. He closed his eyes and let it melt between his tongue and the roof of his mouth.

Odell’s footsteps got closer, but Jarvis’ eyes were closed in bliss so he didn’t see him. “I’ve got like a dozen more boxes in the car, man.” Jarvis didn’t even answer this time, Odell should’ve known that Jarvis almost never swayed on an opinion once he’d made it. “You’re just lazy.”

A smile crossed Jarvis’ lips. “I had a long night.” The sound of Odell’s laughter filled the room because it was a damn good understatement.

The night before, Odell had surprised him by flying in a day early and taking him out to dinner. Once they’d gotten back, they kissed and grinded on each other until their lips were numb and the friction too much to bear, and Odell had made love to him under the sheets, and they had their hands all over each other, constantly moving, brushing skin, tangling limbs together and kissing all over and creating passionate heat, and tugging each other’s hair because they were so, so desperate to touch one another after how long it had been.

“Hey, ‘Dell,” Jarvis started, opening one eye and peeking his head up again to see Odell across the room, shirtless, in just a pair of boxers – Jarvis’ boxers, with the Miami Dolphins logo printed all over them. The elastic waistband tight around his slim hips and toned, flat tummy. He had his hands on his waist and a mischievous grin and all Jarvis wanted to do was kiss him and hold him. “You should come over here and be lazy with me. If you really want, I’ll hand-feed you.”

It was still that time of year when the sun set at around 4:30pm, which would have been annoying if the two of them hadn’t spent the entire day in bed anyway. The blinds from the back porch were drawn and the gold-orange light of the sunset was fanned all around the inside of the room.

The light shone on Odell and made him look like some gorgeous Greek god… one with tattoos, at least. It shone rays through his hair and gave it a ken glow to it, lighting up the curls and making Jarvis want to bury his face there and kiss the top of Odell’s head to smell him and feel the warmth. “That sounds nice,” he admitted, and made his way over.

Odell came over and climbed onto the couch so he was lying on his stomach right next to Jarvis, practically on top of him, and put one arm around Jarvis and atop the other rested his own head. It made his cheek look smooshed but Jarvis thought it was cute and kissed him on the brow once he settled into place. They just reveled in the closeness for a while, a sleepy daze carrying over the both of them and they shared body heat and skin touched skin.

It was pretty unfair that they had been drafted at opposite ends of the same coast, and with so much time spent training and working, especially during the season, they barely got to see each other anymore. It was a big change going from living together in college to being hundreds of miles apart, and they had never really gotten used to it. Odell was always complaining and sending text messages at literally all hours of the day and using FaceTime practically _all_ the time. Jarvis didn’t mind, though. It was hard being away, and Odell had always been so touchy and clingy, so it was hard for him. It was hard for Jarvis, too, but he was less prone to show it.

It just seemed natural to spend the offseason with each other. He liked being with Odell all the time, during meals, working out, in bed, and everything in between, including when they were just relaxing in a heap on the couch like they were now.

Jarvis was still exhausted and probably could have fallen asleep right then. Their breathing was already slow, soft, and in sync, a pattern so lulling that Jarvis’ eyelids were growing heavier by the moment, his mind drifting off in complete comfort and bliss.

Odell stirred after what could have been five minutes or fifty minutes, Jarvis was too sleepy to be sure. He propped up his head on his elbow and looked down at Jarvis, lips upturned in a smirk. “So. You’re gonna feed me, huh?”

Jarvis opened his eyes a little, and a grin crossed his face. “Would you like that?” Odell just hummed a response, long lashes shading his droopy eyes. Jarvis reached up for the spot on the couch above his head and grabbed one of the chocolates out of its frilly wrapper. He held it between his thumb and forefinger and turned his eyes down to Odell’s mouth.

Odell parted his lips and slid the tip of his tongue out, waiting patiently for the chocolate to be placed there. Jarvis placed it on Odell’s tongue, a bit further into his mouth, feeling the pads of his fingers touch tongue for a fraction of a second and the backs of them brush against Odell’s sensitive, warm lips, and then removed his hand. Instead of savoring it, Odell chewed and swallowed it down. He licked his lips as if they were messy, just to tease and to get them wet.

“Is that good?” Jarvis asked him, voice barely above a whisper. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Odell’s lips, how warm they must have been, how wet and soft and sweet-tasting…

Odell hummed again, and instead of opening his mouth in anticipation for being fed more, he moved his head forward and took Jarvis’ first two fingers in his mouth, closing his lips around them. He ran his tongue along Jarvis’ long fingers, getting them slick and warm. Odell took him by the wrist, and Jarvis could feel how soft his tongue moved against the sensitive pads of his fingertips and how Odell was sucking gently, moving to take them in their entirety, all the way down to the base of his hand where his palm began. He was practically moaning as he suckled on them, letting his eyes fall closed and pulling the fingers out just to slide them back in, so much warm spit building up in his cute mouth. Jarvis could feel how deep he was down towards the back of Odell’s throat, and he loved just how well he was being taken and almost shivered as Odell flicked his tongue around and between both fingers, wetting them up for only one reason.

No matter how exhausted he was, Jarvis figured that this was as good of foreplay as any. And it was suddenly so hard to say no to Odell Beckham, even if the man wasn’t using his words.


	2. The Great Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " _It's hard to rely on the rhythm section when they're all packing up and heading for the exit_ ; _Yeah we're all about the same a bunch of slaves to fashion who are tall, dark and scared and just praying for some action_ ; _How am I supposed to know what makes this happen?_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Packers sex! Pretty sure everyone knew this was inevitable... I live in Chicago so I'm surrounded by Packers hate, which means I get to see a lot of these pretty boys. Hope everyone enjoys!
> 
> Not so many spots left in [Brain Thrust Mastery](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4823912), but if you want a pairing that isn't Patriots-exclusive, tell me about it at [my tumblr](http://subwaywolf.tumblr.com/ask) or my [Twitter](https://twitter.com/subwaywolfy) because there's still plenty of spots open here!

“For god’s sake! Look alive, Nelson.”

Aaron’s voice was rough and exasperated. It always got that way when he was with Nelson, whether they were in bed or Nelson was on his knees or they were just kissing like they were now.

Aaron had Jordy pinned up against the back wall of one of the many film caravans that were positioned around the track. Aaron held Jordy by the shoulders, putting all his weight against the smaller man as if preventing him from escaping. This was pointless, because Jordy didn’t want to escape. With his back pressed up against the white metal of the caravan, he stood up on his toes to reach the lips of Aaron. Jordy’s shirt rose up his backside and the cool steel of the caravan chilled his skin. Nelson was too preoccupied to care.

Aaron’s comment for Jordy to “look alive” was a vague, heated command for Jordy to pick up his pace. Rodgers liked to instruct Jordy on what to do and how to do it, sometimes resorting to insulting Nelson if he wasn’t doing it up to Aaron’ss standards. The jeers didn’t faze Jordy. In fact, he liked them. He knew Aaron didn’t mean what he said; he just got into a bit of a mood as he became progressively horny.

Aaron made short, happy noises in his throat. Jordy knew this meant he was doing it right, so he kept it up. Eyes shut, he blindly pawed around until his hands found Aaron’s hips, and Jordy gently rested his hands there. As he kissed Aaron, Jordy struggled to keep himself from grinning against his lips, for he already knew where this was going.

Aaron’s attitude never failed to excite Jordy. Nelson loved being spoken to so roughly. A voice telling him to suck harder or tighten up his hole was a naughty command which Jordy hungrily obeyed. In fact, he’d obey them so well that he’d shut Aaron up sometimes, and instead of shouting orders Aaron would instead produce incoherent noises of pleasure. Jordy then knew he was doing it right.

“Come on, Nelson,” groaned Aaron, breathing warm air into his partner’s mouth. Aaron resorted to referring to Jordy as ‘Nelson’ during times like these and fit the name into every sentence he spoke. Jordy didn’t quite know why.

Jordy smiled at the thought, unable to hold it back as he grinned against Aaron’s parted lips. Nelson tickled Aaron’s ribcage a little, causing Rodgers to fidget positions and release a small hum from his lips. Satisfied with the reaction, Jordy chose to progress.

He slid his fingers up and under the bottom of Aaron’s button-down, red dress shirt, sliding his fingers up of Rodgers’s body and making his way up the length of his torso. Jordy’s hands eventually reached Aaron’s chest and explored it, causing Rodgers to kiss him fervently, making a noise deep in his throat.

Aaron brought a hand up to Jordy’s hair, grabbing a handful of it and tugging lightly. Aaron liked to touch Nelson’s hair when they were alone, it was another fetish he must have had, but again Jordy didn’t mind. His hair stuck to his forehead when it got sweaty and he was fine with Aaron helping him out.

That was a fine summary of their relationship, actually. They helped each other out. It wasn’t unusual for one to feel cripplingly lonely and the other to act upon it with no questions asked. At this point, they easily recognized in each other’s body language when it would be time to kip out together and do their business. It wasn’t for fun anymore, if it ever was for Aaron. It was because they needed each other.

Because of this need, it was a priority for them to keep it a secret. If word got out, it of course couldn’t go on, because Aaron had a family of his own and world’s perception of them would forever be changed.

Thus other drivers were the bane of the relationship’s existence. And it sometimes came too close for comfort. Lacy might ask suspicious questions such as “why is Nelson’s hair all tousled?” or Peppers would observe, “why are Aaron’s clothes all wrinkly?” These questions concerned the pair and they were running dry on excuses. The slower their response, the more skeptical other players would become.

It petrified Nelson to think of what would happen if any of them found out – the names they’d be called, the loss of friendships, the media attention, the end of his and Aaron’s infatuations. It was horrifying.

But it had never happened. They chose their positions wisely, gave no hints of what was going on, and made as little noise as possible when on location for races. Stupidly, however, they performed a majority of their acts near tracks, because that’s where they were stressed out the most and when they most often saw each other. They did it even though other drivers were always was lurking around. Perhaps it was more exciting that way, but most of all, it was the most necessary. It was when they really needed each other.

And always during their antics, they’d forget about the other drivers and be completely focused on each other, oblivious to the world around them and its danger and sadness and pain. All was gone. And nothing was lovelier.

“Nelson…” Aaron’s voice was breathy, full of want. Nelson quickly understood why.

Aaron’s rock hard cock was packed in his pants. Nelson created friction between them when he shifted his hips forward and pressed their groins together. Jordy felt himself starting to stiffen up as well and opened his eyes to see Aaron flush red in the cheeks. At the perfect moment, Aaron opened his eyes as well. Their eye contact eased a grin out of them both, something rare out of a man like Aaron Rodgers, but they only smiled for a moment before pressing their lips together once again.

Nelson, although uncomfortable with the throbbing length in his jeans, was elated. This was the best part of it all. He broke away from Rodgers and, as quickly as possible, pulled his own pants off and shifted his underwear down and off one foot. Aaron unbuttoned his pants and they fell to his feet. Aaron then shifted his undergarments below his hips and took out his cock, wet it with spit, and waited for Jordy to position himself accordingly.

Jordy, with his back against the caravan wall, was lifted off his feet by Aaron. Jordy wrapped his legs around Aaron’s waist to aid him in keeping Nelson aloft. Aaron held Jordy on either side of his waist, positioning the smaller man appropriately.

With no warning but lusty eye contact, Aaron slipped his cock, dripping wet with saliva lubrication, into Jordy. Jordy whined, because as much as Aaron tried to keep him comfortable, the act was inevitably painful. Aaron, as gently as he possibly could, eased himself into a steady, in-and-out rhythm. Jordy’s hole began to loosen up and he could experience his share of the pleasure. 

“Tighten up, Jordy. Move around a bit.” Aaron spoke quickly, eager for Jordy to do as told.

Jordy tightened his muscles around Aaron’s length. As he did this, he opened his eyes to see if he was doing it right. Aaron threw his head back. Jordy had accomplished step one.

Now onto step two. Jordy placed his hands on Aaron’s shoulders, keeping himself balanced as he slid himself downwards. This pushed Aaron even further inside of him.

Aaron seemed grateful for Jordy’s movement. He tightened his grip around Jordy’s waist and hummed happily, his eyes closed. Nelson kept his eyes open, as he was going through a reasonable amount of pain. However, he was fine with being in pain, as long as his partner was happy. He was willing to do whatever possible to please Aaron, because he loved him. That was the only reason he needed.

All was well, until a mistake happened. Jordy lost his grip and fell down further that he was supposed to, landing brutally hard on Aaron’s cock so it was pushed deeper into him, as deep as it could possibly go, ramming against Nelson’s prostate and sending a tidal wave of pain through the smaller man. Aaron opened his eyes, knowing that Jordy was going to burst.

And he did. His face turned a strange shade of red and his mouth opened. At first no noise came out, but as ears filled his eyes, Jordy couldn’t help himself but to scream with no holding back, “Dear god!” 

As Jordy’s eyes welled up with burning tears, Aaron brought a hand up to muffle Nelson’s groans and whimpers. Aaron gently pulled himself out and Jordy landed on his feet, on the ground again, but his knees buckled so Rodgers brought his hands up to steady him.

Jordy held onto Aaron, aftershock running through them, his arse aching horribly. He was still tearing up, whimpering, wondering if he had torn something up his hole. Aaron accepted his embrace, but his muscles were tense and reluctant as always. Aaron lifted Jordy’s head from his shoulder and gently cupped Nelson’s face in his hands, looking at him. “Are you okay?”

Jordy stared back. Behind the blur in his vision, the bright blue eyes of Aaron Rodgers were visible as they worriedly looked back at him. Jordy leaned in to press his lips to Aaron’s, and Aaron elatedly accepted. It was the only answer he needed.

All was fine again. Aaron and Jordy were engulfed in each other once again with no possible threats.

“Sweet Jesus!”

Clay Matthews. Unmistakably.

Without even looking to confirm their suspicions, Jordy and Aaron immediately pulled apart and shot down to pull their pants and undergarments back up around their waists. The partners exchanged a quick worried glance before facing their fears.

Clay stood there dumbly, seemingly unable to move, his hands up in the air, his eyebrows furrowed, and his his teeth bared in a grimace.

“Clay!” Jordy muttered, “I-…he can explain!” He pointed a finger in Aaron’s direction in a desparate attempt to divert his attention elsewhere. Jordy’s stomach ached from fear. It was all over. Five years behind them which they’d never be able to relive. Jordy was aching everywhere now, including his heart.

Rodgers was slow to respond. His words came out deliberately, “I…what are you… doing here?” Jordy was surprised that Aaron was not yelling, and upon glancing and him, Nelson saw his partner wasn’t blushing with anger or even with shame, instead he was completely white. All the color was flushed from his face.

Clay shook his head rapidly. “Never mind that! What is this?!” Matthews was hysterical and confused. “I mean, I know what this is, but…” he stammered, “What is this?” He was frantic for an explanation, but Jordy was still choked up and Aaron was still pale, so Clay wasn’t likely to get one.

Jordy studied Clay’s face. It was creased with lines of frustration and anger, however there was a slight glint of concern in his eyes. Jordy asked an odd question. “Clay…are you angry?”

Slowly, Clay’s hands returned to their normal position. He paused before answering. “I wasn’t expecting to turn this corner and find two of my good friends with their cock and balls out, you know?” He took a breath to calm himself. “I’m just confused. And rightfully so, if I’m honest.”

Aaron silently Matthewsed his pants, but stopped and color returned to his face. Too much color, actually. He was blushing. He stood up straight and gave a frightened look to Nelson.

Ignoring Clay, Jordy was quick to respond to Aaron. “Did you…” Nelson gave a vague gesture which meant ‘wet yourself’. 

Aaron gave a quick nod. It had happened before, Aaron not being able to control his climax, but this was the worst possible time. 

Mercilessly, Clay was quick to notice the stain down the front of Aaron’s trousers. “Aaron, your-…aw, Aaron! I couldn’t gone through my entire life without seeing that!” 

Remarkably, Jordy, despite everything, was amused and he began to laugh in spite of himself. This eased a grin out of the previously befuddled Matthews, who began to chuckle as well. 

And suddenly, it wasn’t an awkward encounter. Instead, it was another everyday occurrence of laughing at Aaron’s misfortunes. Jordy could tell that Aaron, although annoyed with being the laughing stock, was relieved that humor was a result of the sticky situation they were in.

After cooling down, Clay spoke. “Well, since Aaron is having problems controlling his penis, I expect you two at the start of practice in ten.” He left coolly, smiling at his own feet as he walked away.

As soon as Clay was out of sight, Jordy hugged Aaron around the waist. The embrace was a silent celebration of pure relief.


	3. Lousy Reputation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " _Why do I keep finding myself so surprised? The qualities, you openly have advertised? A bigger man might not feel quite so compromised_ ; _But I've never been a saint and I won't start tonight_ ; _A bigger man could probably get past it all_ ; _Oh, the problem here is I just won't grow up_ ; _So what?_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been so long but... I'm back! I was gone for personal reasons and I really missed doing this so I wrote this nice and long one for y'all!!! 
> 
> I used to stan for the Broncos as my second-favorite team after the Patriots and I loved Jay Cutler to death. Then he moved to Chicago after the Josh McDaniels fiasco. I live in Chicago and my entire family is Bears fans, and I really dislike the Bears (for some reason Freud would probably know) so it's rough for me. I love Jay with all my heart and actively and constantly make fun of him to my family, but still, I love the guy. That being said, I hate Phil Rivers. He's a dick. And that's all I have to say about that.

Sitting quietly in a cool metal chair, Phil Rivers waited. His skin was chilled by the metal armrests but he was too preoccupied to notice. His mind was preparing something important. This preparation was making his breathing staggered and causing him to inadvertently twirl his thumbs around one another. He ran his tongue along the fronts of his pearly whites, a nervous habit he had since as long as he could remember. He did it for no reason in particular and it had never even helped him much, but as much as he wanted to get out of the habit, Phil was unable to break it.

His nerves were the result a rival quarterback, Jay Cutler. Phil usually had no trouble speaking to Jay, but things were becoming different between them, and Phil wasn’t fond of it. 

It began at a pro scouting camp, the first time the men, in college at the time, had met. Jay took the uncharacteristic liberty distracting Phil during his forty-yard dash time, knocking off Rivers’s time on that lap by two seconds, which in NFL time is two years. 

At the time, Phil thought it must’ve been a mistake on Jay’s part, since he was a kid, and religious, and never thought another man would engage in foul play in such a fair sport, or at least not during practice runs. So Phil thought nothing of it. But he did become suspicious when, upon approaching Cutler post-race to ask what happened, Jay put on his sunglasses and walked away, slipping into the locker room without even a glance.

And it got worse as they years kept on. There was no mutual respect between them. They’d had confrontations in the past, which was natural, especially back when Jay was on the Broncos and Phil was his division rival who always seemed to not only beat him but also win the division playoff title. This was annoying on its own, but the fact that neither of them were good sports regardless if they won or lost only built up the tension. Some words were thrown around, to each other’s faces and behind their backs, and since the both of them were prideful and arrogant, the grudge lasted even now, all these years later, with Jay on the Bears and Phil halfway across the country still in San Diego.

Phil wanted to call Jay out for being a prick. But then he recognized it was not only ruining their competitive rivalry, but it could possibly ruin the professionalism of the AFC West. Against his nature, Phil needed to act upon this calmly and cautiously.

Thankfully, Cutler and Rivers were both British, which meant they could solve their problem with plucky ease. Or at least that’s what Philip’s mindset entailed. 

Phil snuck a glance at his phone. Jay was ten minutes late now, which wasn’t a fucking surprise.

Phil had always been the stubborn one. As much as he wanted to retain the dominant title and make the playoffs, he also wanted them to have a friendly competitive relationship and not risk each other overexerting and hurting themselves all because of Jay.

Phil sighed. This was bullshit. Why were the roles being reversed? Why was Phil now the serious and distant one while Jay became cool and pompous? He had no reason to – his team was shit and he was shit. Yet he still acted like a total ass. Phil wasn’t fond of this and he wanted it to change, and soon.

The door opened. Cutler instinctively turned around to put his stuff down, facing his back to Rivers, not seeing Phil sitting in the chair. Phil cleared his throat. This made Jay spin around in alarm, but once he realized it was Phil, his expression twisted into a look of disgust.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” Cutler asked, his eyebrows furrowed behind his black shades.

Phil felt that if he stood up, it would be easier to intimidate Jay into going back to his normal self. So he stood. “Let’s have a talk, Jay.”

“Let’s not,” was Cutler’s immediate response. There was boredom laced in his voice.

Phil hated being spoken back to like that. He gritted his teeth as he watched Cutler attempt to leave. Rivers reached out to grab Jay by his McLaren-Mercedes logo embroidered team jumper. “Stop. Listen to me for a minute.”

Jay shrugged away from Philip’s grasp, smoothing out his now wrinkly sleeve. “For fuck’s sake, I just had this dry-cleaned!”

Phil ignored him. “Jay, listen. I wanna talk about the divisional rounds.”

Cutler turned around and suddenly snapped. “Why, you’re upset I was mean to you at the conference? This is a game, you know. Only one of us can win the Super Bowl. We aren’t friends. I thought you knew that.”

Rivers kept his cool. “What the fuck’s up with you, man? Come on, you’re different.”

Jay said nothing, just scratched at his beard.

“I mean, look at you,” Phil said, squinting his eyes as he examined the man before him. “You’re worried about your dry cleaning, you’re preaching we aren’t friends, you smell like expensive booze, and you’re wearing your sunglasses indoors, for god’s sake. What the fuck, dude?”

Jay swallowed hard, replying with a searing glare. “You want me to take off my sunglasses? I’ll take off the fuckin’ sunglasses.” 

And he did, revealing bloodshot, teary red eyes which made Rivers recoil inadvertently, taking a step back and running into his chair. “Dude, what-”

“Shut up, asshole,” he snapped, glaring. “You know why I’m ‘not the same’ and why I’ve ‘changed’? I’ll tell you the truth. I’m the saddest piece of shit you’ll ever lay your eyes on. The reason I was so pissed off on Friday was because, I’ve got fuckin’ nobody, and when I saw you and Tiffany, jealousy hit me hard and it killed me, ate me up inside like some kind of acide.”

Phil gulped. “But what about-”

“She’s gone. Gone, for months now. You would have known if you had the courtesy to ask.” Jay’s blue eyes glared at Phil with a hatred Rivers had never seen before. “And I realized I should stop walking around like a miserable douche and letting you be a conceited ass to me like you have been for the past five years. I decided to start giving a damn. I started acting this way to show you that you aren’t better than me, even though you are in every single possible way. And if smelling like book and worrying about dry cleaning and wearing sunglasses is going to trick me into thinking I’ve got it better than you, then I’m damn sure going to do that.”

Phil was frozen. He was not expecting that. Frowning slightly, he made up words to say and spoke them softly. “If you spoke to me we might have worked it out.”

“No, man. It didn’t work out. Every time I’d try and chat you up, you cock it up and talk shit about me. So I gave up. Why bother talking to you if you’re just going to talk shit?”

“Look, Jay. I’m sorry. I do want to talk to you, I swear. If you feel that way, tell me, because you need to stop the way you’re acting. It’s not only ruining our friendship, it’s ruining the sport,” Phil pleaded, staring intently at his teammate.

“It’s ruining the sport?” mocked the taller man, “So that’s what this is about? You want me to calm down for the sport? So you can win? That’s what’s happening here?” Cutler chuckled slightly. “Bravo, Phil, bravo. You’re such a good sport, dude. Wow.” 

Rivers interrupted with a firm, “No,” even though what Cutler was saying was partially true. “Just listen to me. We’re fellow players and we have to get along. So if there’s anything I can do, anything to make it better, I’ll do it.”

“Suck my dick,” replied Jay, squinting angrily.

Phil rolled his eyes. “I’m trying to help, Jay, and if you’re going to deny my offer and make childish remarks like that, then to hell with you. At least I tried.”

Jay took a step closer to Rivers. “You don’t understand. I said, suck my dick.” He put his hands out and pushed Phil with such force that Rivers stumbled backwards onto the chair he was previously sitting in. 

Phil hadn’t time to speak, because within seconds, his sports jacket was being unzipped and pushed down his arms. Jay twisted it there so Phil, despite his struggle, couldn’t disentangle himself. “Dude! What the fuck are you-”

Cutler clasped a large, sweaty hand over Philip’s mouth. “Shut up. You said you wanted to help, eh? Well I haven’t been sucked off for six months. Help me with that.”

Phil pleaded, “No! Please!” but his cries were muffled and incomprehensible with Jay’s hand in the way. Phil remained silent and struggled again to get his hands free but was unsuccessful. 

Phil closed his eyes when he heard the zipper of Jay’s jeans being undone and his underwear being shuffled down. Phil opened his eyes again when the hand was removed from his face. Phil was eye-level with Jay’s cock, which Jay held gently in his hand. He wanted to close his eyes again but he was strangely drawn to stare at what was in front of him.

Jay’s cock was reddish and veiny, and Phil stared down at it with a twisted look of disgust on his face. Damp, wiry, tan pubes lay tousled and unkempt on his crotch, reeking of sweat and piss. Jay held it with a shaking hand, running his thumb along its shaft.

Phil could have gagged but he contained himself. “Don’t… please…,” he begged.

Jay heard none of it. He slipped his cock through Philip’s closed lips and thrust his hips so it was stuffed into Philip’s mouth.

Phil gagged on it. It didn’t taste any better than it looked. The salty sweat lingered in Philip’s mouth as Jay thrust himself in and out of his teammate, placing his hands on Philip’s skull and gently easing Philip’s head along with the motions of his hips.

Phil found himself running his tongue along the end of Jay’s cock. He wanted to stop, but this was the only way Phil was able to get air as Jay fucked his mouth relentlessly.

Jay threw his head back, grinning. “God, Rivers, it’s like you’ve done this before.”

With a small grunt, Jay leaked pre-cum into Philip’s mouth. It tickled as it dripped down Philip’s tongue and throat. It tasted like a sweetened version of the paste Phil had used in primary school and had the same consistency.

As saliva built up in Philip’s mouth, Jay slid himself in and out with escalating ease. Also, he began to buck himself deeper into Philip’s throat, and Jay was not a small man. Phil, with Jay’s hot, wet cock in his mouth, soon became unable to breathe. He desperately struggled again to disentangle his hands but wasn’t successful. 

Philip’s cheeks flushed, but his dark skin hid the red tint, so Jay didn’t notice this either. As Phil began to feel lightheaded, he thought about what a miserable way to die this would be and what it would say on his death certificate: “death by suffocation on Jay Cutler’s sweaty cock”. Phil used the remainder of the breath he had left to groan helplessly and hopefully get Jay’s attention.

And mercifully, he did. Jay pulled himself out of Rivers’s mouth and Phil gasped for much needed air. Phil let his eyes fall halfway closed and he observed drowsily the barely-visibly strands of saliva that connected Philip’s moist lips to Jay’s dripping wet penis. 

And without warning, Jay finished, blowing his load all over Philip’s face. It shot mostly on Philip’s lips and jaw line, dripping down his chin. Jay moaned happily, immersed in the high of afterglow. Phil felt his cheeks flush with mortified heat. He closed his eyes in shame.

As he listened to Jay’s happy hums, Phil instinctively moved to wipe his face off with the back of his hand. After a single tug he remembered he was still tied up and glanced up at Jay nervously.

Jay’s brief good mood was gone. His smile went away as his eyes met Philip’s. Squinting angrily, he whispered, “Lick it off.”

Phil flushed again. “The fuck? I’m not gonna-”

Jay drew his hand back and slapped Phil across the side of the head. “Lick it off!” he shouted. The pain lingered long after Jay took his hand away. 

Phil refused to make eye contact with his teammate. Humiliated, he cleaned his own face with his tongue. Jay’s semen tasted thickly of paste and vaguely of pineapple. Phil was mortified and his eyes flooded with tears.

Jay laughed as he packed up his cock back into his jeans. “That’s a good boy,” he mused.

Phil said nothing. Tears now streamed down his cheeks, mixing into his mouth with the taste of the semen, creating the most unpleasant flavor he’d ever tasted.

Jay took the end of his sleeve and wiped Philip’s face in the spots Rivers’s tongue could not reach. “I’m sorry for hitting you, Phil. Really.”

Philip’s reddened, glassy eyes darted upwards to glare at his aggressor.

“You said you wanted to help,” shrugged Cutler.

Phil bared his teeth, feeling the gritty semen grinding between them. “Fuck you, Jay,” he breathed, his voice shaky and broken. “Fuck you.”

Jay walked behind Philip’s chair to untie the knotted, tangled jacket from Rivers’s wrists. He ignored what Phil said. “You did well, Phil. I feel better already.”

Phil, his hands free, shrugged his coat back onto his shoulders, but said nothing, just wiped the tears from his face. He was too weak to attack Jay and too ashamed to say anything to him. His response was silence.

“And who knows,” said Jay, progressing calmly to the door. But before he slipped through the doorway, he finished his thought. “Maybe it’ll save the sport.”

Phil was then left alone in the darkened office, and when the door was shut, Rivers held his face gently in his hands and wept silently.


	4. It's A Hit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " _I'm about as close to making sense as I am ever going to get, is that how quickly I'd be gone?_ ; _And just read my lips, they're pretty loose_ ; _But I can't over stay; who's kidding who?_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the tumblr user who suggested this!! My sorry ass, not knowing jack shit about the Panthers despite spending two months every year for 14 years in North Carolina, had to look up who Luke Kuechly even was and god damn I was not disappointed. Cam Newton is straight up one of the most beautiful men in football and Luke is right on up there with him. Thank you for introducing me to him. 
> 
> It seems bad that I'm honoring them by writing porn without a plot, but really, I can't think of a better way to do it.

“Luke. Hey.” Cam’s voice was unusually, almost unnaturally quiet, barely louder than the sound of the shower blasting down on their backs and against the tile floor. 

Luke opened his eyes halfway at the sound of his name. He tilted his head to the side roughly, trying to get the water out of his ears so he could hear better, but no luck. His black hair slapped against the side of his face when he did, and so he brought a hand up, fingering it back behind his ears as neatly as he can. Luke didn’t more than huff in reply. He was relaxing, exhausted. He enjoyed these moments after practice with Cam here in the locker room. He enjoyed them more than he probably should.

“Luke?” Cam tried again, louder this time. Water splattered against his shoulders and chest as he faced the shower head, and drops trickled in ceaseless stripes down the length of his back. 

Kuechly, standing directly behind him, reached a hand out and placed it there, on the muscular width of Cam’s back, between his shoulder blades, to watch the water touching his skin transfer to his own, to observe and admire the contrasting colors of their naked skin. “Hmm?” he responded, barely coherent, moving the hand down Cam’s spine and resting it finally at the small of his back.

Cam rounded his shoulders back, arching them at the touch. “Are you hard?” he asked finally, spitting into the shower at their feet. He had one hand against the tile wall in front of him, for support. His legs were spread just so. He looked _damn_ fine, in Luke’s eyes.

With a quick shake of his head, Luke’s mop of hair sent water droplets flying everywhere, just to get wet all over again. He leaned forward and rubbed his hard cock against Cam’s leg teasingly. “You tell me,” he suggested, and Cam chuckled inwardly. Luke moved forward and took Cam around the waist, pulling him closer, and he turned his face up to whisper, “Can I put it in?” He finished the sentiment by parting his lips and biting gently on the bottom of Cam’s ear.

Cam tilted his head in response, reacting to the sensitivity of the bite. “Do you have a condom?” He curved his back, placing the cheeks of his ass against Luke’s stiff cock, loosening in his grasp, relaxing in the steaming hot water. 

Luke kept his hands on Cam’s hips but dug his fingers into flesh, getting a grip on the wet, warm, slippery skin before him. He moved his face to Cam’s neck and kissed him there, softly and lightly at first, and then more wet, with more tongue, more fervor, pausing only to joke, “Sure. It’s in my back pocket.” 

Cam shifted in place uncomfortably. Luke only had to peek over his shoulder to see the stiff, thick cock between his partner’s legs, turned up, heavy, wet, and willing. Arm still propping himself up against the wall, Cam shook his head, letting his head fall. “Forget it.” Water was trailing down his head and face. His eyes remained closed through it all. “I don’t care. Just…put it in.” 

Still somnolent, Luke was not inclined to trust this at first. Cam was already pretty loose as it was, but he was never known to be exceptionally rash or reckless. “You sure, Cam?” He moved his hands up so they were on the quarterback’s waist. Cam was taller than him, only slightly, so he would have to bend down for Luke to reach him. This was tradition, and they were used to it.

There was an understandable impatience in Cam’s tone when he sighed, “Yeah, yeah. I’m sure.” Cam used the hand not pressed against the wall to grab at his own dick. He kept his bottom half angled and ready, lowering in position slightly by spreading his legs.

It only took a lazy few seconds for Luke to move forward and position his hips with his hands just in the place he likes them. Cam’s hole was already well-used and required little more than a slow start to become loose and slick, so Luke positions himself perfectly, closes his eyes and slowly, finally, pushes himself in.

Hot muscles were mercilessly squeezing tight around Luke’s length, and some sort of primal growl escaped his throat, overshadowed only by the moan passing Cam’s lips, louder and deeper, bouncing and echoing across the empty bathroom walls. When Luke pulled out, the shower stream cooled off his hot length, an unusual but appreciated tactile sensation he distantly enjoyed. The enjoyment was temporary, however, because the pressure between his legs was only building up, and Luke couldn’t help it but to pound back in again, again, again.

Luke could physically feel the hot adrenaline shooting through his veins and the drowsy pleasure making his eyelids heavy and his breathing full and expansive. A tidal wave surge of pleasure overcame his body; first a flash of sluggish, distant heat, and then a shivering flourish of electric excitement to cover it up. The thrusting made him dog-tired, and the noise of his heart pounding through his ears was swathing the sounds of Cam’s moans of satisfaction. 

A steady rhythm overcame his body, so cognition was no longer necessary. It was a primitive drive, an animalistic force controlled by his autonomic midbrain, and there was something so innately, wholeheartedly masculine and primal about it at its heart. The combination of androgen overdose and sleep deprivation was proving to be heinous. The rain from the shower head beat down on him, and more and more continuous heartbeat-muffled grunts came out of his dreamy lover. 

Luke was pressing small, fleeting kisses on his teammate’s shoulders and back, losing himself in the taste and touch and feel of it all, when suddenly, Cam grabbed his arm.

“Wait a minute,” Cam mumbled between grunts. Luke is unable to pause for more than a second before that primordial rhythm starts up again in his heart and hips, compelling him to thrust back inside Cam’s warm, willing insides. Grunting through his teeth, Cam tightens his grim on Luke’s forearm and brings it up to his own neck in some sort of choke hold. “Here,” Cam continued, out of breath. 

Luke opened his eyes, rapidly blinking droplets of water out of his lashes. He looked down, over his own arm, watching Cam tug on his own cock with increasing, slippery fervor. Luke kept his arm up, hooking it around Cam’s neck, holding onto him for support and stability. “What…what do you want me to do?” he asked, eyes closing again. A familiar tickling sensation aroused in his abdomen. 

With his free hand, Cam was still gripping at Luke’s arm, holding it in place so Luke couldn’t take it away. “Before I start to come,” he ordered, “Choke me.” So out of breath from being fucked, it was hard to tell if he was joking. Cam really wasn’t one to joke, though, especially not in situations like this.

The order was more or less startling. Luke opened his eyes fully now, looking down to make sure he was still in a comfortable position for them both, and then glancing around at the off-white tile walls. “What?” he asked, thinking he heard him wrong. His heart still thudded incessantly in his ears, and with the shower drowning everything out, it was hard to hear, so Luke gave him this benefit of the doubt for a second. 

The persistence answered his question. “Come on…,” Cam pressed, and whatever he was going to say next turned into a low grown as Luke pushes deeper, and Cam’s body convulses below him, internal muscles tightening involuntary in alarm.

Luke obeyed the order, as always, almost as a second nature. He tightened his grip, constricting Cam’s windpipe so that one final, futile gasp came out of his throat before Luke closed it as commanded. If he’d used the entirety of his massive strength, he could have done some serious damage, but he was gentle enough, asphyxiating his partner to the exact limit that he wouldn’t be harmed or injured.  
With the last breath in his lungs, Cam’s body relaxes and he releases a shallow moan, receiving Luke’s cock deep and hard one last time before emptying his load, shooting all over the shower wall, muscles shuddering with euphoria. It only takes the sight and sound of this for Luke to come as well, filling him up with so much come that it started leaking out his gaping hole.

Luke finally pulled out and removed his arm so Cam could gasp for breath. The world was fuzzy around Luke as he basked in the afterglow. “How was that, Mr. Auto-erotic?” Cam started laughing, lowering his head to receive the flow of the shower down the back of his neck. He then turns around, leering over his shorter lover with playfully-narrowed eyes and a mischievous grin, panting through the smirk on his face. Luke narrows his eyes right back. “You are such a fucked up-”

And that’s all he says, because, of course, you can’t talk when someone else’s tongue is in your mouth.


	5. Cash Cow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Slide up, just drop everything_ ; _I'm not gonna wait for anything to happen_ ; _All of this at once, I'm ready for the cash in_ ; _I'm not gonna wait for anything to happen_ ; _Well I've been talking a lot, I'm not saying much of anything_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, here's the last update of the season. Holy shit, remember when I used to update weekly? Ah, those were the days.
> 
> I'll probably be posting a new fic for next season's chapters. No promises whatsoever on if that'll even happen, by the way. But if it does, I'll probably start around summer training camp so keep your eyes open (the NFL RPF tag on this site is dead af anyway so I'm sure that won't be a problem). Keep the suggestions coming, though. If I'm inspired enough I just might crank it out early. If not it'll go in the bank for next season.
> 
> Thanks for sticking by me, guys! I'm so glad to share my dirty mind with you and for you all to use me as your outlet for filth. Cheers.  
> -Zack

The summer break in between NFL seasons was supposed to be for rest and relaxation, but Joe Flacco liked to unwind by turning up at parties. House parties, clubs, or just small gatherings with friends, he enjoyed them. Matt Ryan had read somewhere that extroverts regained energy by socializing. That was something he couldn’t relate to _at all_ , but if it worked for Joe, he guessed he wasn’t in any place to complain.

Joe loved parties and he loved getting buzzed-level drunk – enough to still have clear cognition but also enough to require a ride home, usually on the back of Matt’s Roketa motorized scooter. Joe also loved social media, and often those things were disastrous when combined. 

The event wasn’t a very big get-together, and it wasn’t the craziest party he’d ever attended (this wasn’t college anymore) but it was a good one nonetheless. He’d developed this internal speedometer over his years of partying that measured how good a party was. If you asked Joe about this party, he’d have said it clocked in at sixty miles per hour, which was good. That was highway speed, but, in Joe’s words, “more like, you know, the middle lane, not the fast one.” Still, he had a load of fun. It was hard for Joe to enter a room without making it fun, in all honesty.

Matt agreed with all this when Joe went rambling on about it. He had to, really. God, it was hard to wipe a smile off of Joe Flacco’s face. Once it was there, it was impossible to get out, like Sharpie on a dry-erase board. It was a pretty smile, and a contagious one. Over the years, Matt had found it hard to resist, among other things. 

It was hard to break the news to him, but someone had to do it. Someone close had to do it. And really, especially in this situation, Matt was the closest person.

As Joe rambled on about how great the party was, Matt was pulling up Snapchat on his phone and looking through his saved pictures. Most of them were ones Joe himself had taken, almost all of them selfies or unflattering images of his friends and teammates taken when they weren’t looking. But it was the most recent picture that was the problem. 

All in all, it was a really bad picture. Embarrassingly, it was captioned with at least a dozen tongue-sticking-out emojis and countless exclamation points, but the quality was even worse. 

The lighting was horrible, dark in awkward places and bright white flash lighting up the undertones of their faces as if they were telling horror stories at a campfire. The picture was angled strangely and almost entirely blurry, yet not blurry enough that their identities were concealed. The phone had been held out an awkward distance away and tilted up, so their heads looked smaller than they really were, and only half of the frame was taken up by them, the rest was ugly blue wallpaper. Joe was smiling stupidly – not unusual. Matt’s eyes were half-closed, mid-blink. 

And they were kissing. 

There was that. The kiss was… sloppy. Warm and amiable, but messy, and, above all, drunken. In the picture, they were full-on locking lips. Matt’s mouth was open and against Joe’s dumb, awkward, open smile, and if you squinted, you could see their tongues out and touching.

It wasn’t the first time they’d kissed. It was just the first time Joe had taken a picture of it. And put it on Snapchat. And shared it with the whole world.

They trained at the same training facility in Detroit, both attending the annual summer camp. Matt had tried going to various teammates for support or advice, but that proved to end up making him feel worse than before. 

Julio Jones laughed so hard at the news that Matt walked away in frustration before the receiver could offer advice of any kind. Devonta Freeman laughed as well, mockingly putting a hand on Matt’s shoulder and telling Matt that he was happy for him. The millisecond-long, side-eyed glare he received from Coach Quinn was more than enough for Matt to immediately understand his opinion on the situation – or maybe he was just offended that he was being spoken to in the first place. 

Conclusively, it was clear that this situation was one Matt had to handle on his own.

It proved to be harder than he thought. When Matt, blushing, eyes faltering, showed the picture to Joe, he met the same reaction – laughing. 

“Damn,” Joe chuckled, his voice bright and amused. “That is a really bad picture. I should probably turn my flash off. Is that a booger in my nose?” Joe leaned forward and squinted, trying to get a better look.

Matt pulled the phone away from him so Joe would look him in the eyes instead. He held his hands out in a loose gesture of a shrug. “What do you have to say for yourself? Do you know how many people saw this?” He glanced at the screen once again, once again losing the momentary hope that this was all a twisted dream of some kind.

The confused expression on Joe’s face was mildly concerning. He put his hands up defensively. “Hey, don’t blame me for being insanely popular and having tons of Snapchat friends.” He put his hands back down, grinning dumbly. “Do you have an exact number, though? I’m kinda curious.”

Matt narrowed his eyes. The more frustrated he became, the higher his voice was becoming, in both pitch and volume. “Are you seeing the problem here?” He really could not tell if Joe was just messing around or if he was genuinely this stupid.

For some reason, this must have reached Joe’s ears sounding like a complex algebraic equation, because his face twisted and he furrowed his brow in confusion. He brought a hand to the back of his neck and scratched there nervously, almost cautiously, then shrugged, then loosened into a laugh. Matt felt hopeless.

“To be honest with you? No, I’m not seeing the problem.” Joe put his hand out and smiled innocently. “Should we take the picture again? Maybe fix your hair, get a better angle?” He laughed again, caught up in amusement in his own joke. “I can borrow Phichit’s selfie stick.”

There was a long moment where Matt just stared at him, mouth open. “You’re an idiot,” he sighed with a shrug, giving up. 

There really was no way to wipe a smile off of this man’s face. Matt could feel the deep blush across his own cheeks, and for half a second, he wondered, is it really that bad? If the whole world thought they were dating, well… maybe this could be the excuse to finally start. 

As the gears turned in Matt’s head, Joe waved dismissively. “It’s no big deal,” he assured his friend, “Really, dude. I know your masculinity isn’t that fragile. Relax. Chill out.” That wide smile was white, bright, and right in Matt’s face. “I know you don’t hate me. Right?”

Matt narrowed his eyes, but a smile spread across his face nonetheless. “With that face? How could I?” 

He barely had any time to react before Joe leaned down and kissed him again, their smiling lips meeting and moving against each other, amiably and amorously, and Matt slid his phone into his back pocket, locking it with his thumb, and raised up on his toes to unite with his friend.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for all of the requests this season! Unfortunately all slots are filled.
> 
> However, I might update occasionally during the offseason if the mood strikes me. Contact me at [my tumblr](http://subwaywolf.tumblr.com/ask) or my [Twitter](https://twitter.com/subwaywolfy) and tell me what you'd like to see!


End file.
